At the End of All Things:
by Felarof
Summary: RotK, paragraphs about what happens to the characters during the battle of Pelennor Fields with All Shall Fade the song My first submission R&R please! Better than it sounds! Reviews welcomed... PLEASE!


:At the End of All things:  
By: Mhairi Robertson

Based on: the novel: the Return of the King, J.R.R. Tolkien  
And: the new line movie, the Return of the King  
Also: the song, All shall fade as featured in the Return of the King

Note To the disclaimer: I do not own Tolkien, or any of the characters in this writing. I do not own the words, they belong to the dictionary. I have and WILL not make a profit of this writing… yeah…

XXX 

: At the End of All Things:  
_  
__Home is behind…_

Faramir's heavy foot falls grew silent as he left the hall. The stone of Minas Tirith befit the whole situation. But it seemed to close on Denethor in his madness. Pippin stared at Denethor. He had done the unthinkable. Sent his son- his only remaining son- to his death. He shed no tear. He just stared silently at the wall. Picking at his fruit and pushing it through his mouth with trembling fingers. Peregrin Took knew that Denethor had experienced much, but he could not tell what of. With the hope of the men hanging by a thread, and the defences at Osgiliath over run, there was no time to waste telling hobbits of Stewards. Stewards whose line was drawing to an end.

"Can you sing master hobbit?" It was the first sentence he had uttered after sending Faramir away. Pippin stared at the King for a moment, pondering over why he wanted a song? Was there no remorse in him! Faramir was the walking dead! He felt the urge to yell it all out. To tell him that Faramir was a Captain! A good fighter, and a leader the men would follow. But he held his tongue and answered the question. "Well… Yes… At least well enough in my own people… but we have no songs fit for great halls… and evil times"

Pippin's mind instantly went back to Merry, the last he'd seen of him. Merry had been angry at him for looking at that Palantir. He'd given him the last of the Longbottom Leaf. It lay on his bed, half-full. He was smoking away his worries of this world, and preparing to enter that of the next…

"And why would your songs be unfit for my halls? Come! Sing me a song!" Pippin was brought out of his mind and into the open as the king tossed an answer back. He thought of Merry again and how they'd danced on the tables at Edoras. Singing about the Green Dragon, what he would give to be back there right now. The joy and happiness all around him, Merry, and that big pint… Denethor chewed on a tomato, the red juice spilling juice down his chin. It looked just like blood. Just like the murderer he is. And at that moment, Pippin started to sing…  
_  
__The World Ahead…_

His helmet weighted heavily down upon him as he rode out of the city gates. In the distance he could just make out the hazy background of Osgiliath. It was over run. With Nazgul perched on the ramparts and orcs, row after row. The charge was gaining speed. He could feel the muscles of his horse move as he galloped across the field. Swinging it's head, and neighing. Dear horse do you know that this is the end. And it was the end. He could see death on the rider beside him, and smell it in the very air they breathe.

Each helmet glinted as the sun reflected it, a row of metal. A row of the finest cavalry in all of Minas Tirith. As they closed in on the final hundred yards he drew his sword, there was a whistle as the soldiers behind him drew theirs. Something he was well familiar with by now. He remembered when they recaptured Osgiliath. He remembered Boromir. He was the only one who cared. He could barely remember his mother, and Denethor favoured Boromir by far. But Boromir had truly cared. He was a real brother. The one who corrected his stance with a sword, and would lose purposely when father watched, as to prove his brother worth something. The one who would chase away the others when Faramir would rather read a book than spar with them. He remembered the day that he was sent to Rivendell, the way he had looked at father when he commanded him to go. The way he clasped Faramir's shoulder, and his smile. Assuring him that everything would be okay. And the funny thing was that Faramir believed him. Believed him up until that night with the dream, and then the day when he found the horn. He would regret being the one to find it. The first to know.

The hammer of the enemy was falling, it's final stroke seemed unavoidable. At that point in time all hope in Faramir's mind was lost. As far as he knew there were no reinforcements. Theoden had not come, the White Wizard's powers seemed limited and the soldiers hearts were diminished. Faramir felt the certainty of Death breathe upon him, his icy hand settling on his shoulder. He never thought he would do this but, he accepted death with open arms…

_And there are many paths to tread…_

With one hand she held the reigns, with another the hobbit. He was small no larger than that of a child, and she clutched him tight. They were both forbidden to ride with the men, but both desired to fight. He to see Pippin and not to be left behind, she to seek a valiant death. She could tolerate this world no longer. For all the rejections she had faced, for all the lives that surrounded her. She thought of her father and mother. She had no real memories of them, just the thoughts that Eomer can sometimes recall. She thought of her cousin, Theodred. The person who when she was little would take her atop his horse and take her for a ride. She remembered the day her brother returned from the Fords of Isen. How her Uncle was under Worm tongues spell, he did nothing when his son died…

They were climbing a hill, she could feel the difference in her horse. His muscles pulled under his skin, his soft coat shifting under it's power. She could tell by the men's faces that they were drawing near. The faces of the old etched with worry, and concern. They could tell that death was almost certain. In the faces of the new who were facing their first war, they were eager, nervous. They had come to the top of the hill now. Eowyn strained to see what lay beyond the horses and men.

It was Minas Tirith. Climbing out of the mountain, tall and royal, even in it's time of need. The wonder and majesty quickly left as they looked upon the battle field. Thousands of Legions all lined up. For a moment her heart quailed, her mouth went dry. She was not sure if she wanted it to end this way. But her fear was lost upon the time, to unveil? What of valor? And dignity? No she was in this now. And if it were death she sought, then she would rather it be by the hand of some foul beast rather than the rocks as she threw herself off the cliff….

There was a pause as Theoden turned to face his army. Eowyn regarded her Uncle in the knowledge they may never meet again. He drew his sword and started whacking each spear, for luck. His mouth was moving but the words were drowned out. But in the end she was yelling with the men. Calling out to the king. Rolling the word off her tongue as the army called for it one final time, death…

_Through shadow…_

The loll of the sea had a calming effect on Aragorn. He sat at the bow of the ship, looking over the edge into the sea below. His eyes were cast distantly and the elf who sat beside him could tell where. In his fingers he played with the Evenstar pendant, smoothing it's edges and toying with it's chain. He would warn him not to drop it, but Aragorn was not clumsy… …least not with things like that. He pulled away and left Aragorn in peace with his thoughts.

Aragorn had barely noticed his friends coming and going. He was indorsed in his thoughts and memories. Dreams that became more distant with each passing moment. He thought of what his foster-father Elrond had said. That Arwen's fate was tied to that of the ring. He pondered the sentence, trying to figure out it's meaning. Of course he knew it's meaning. He just didn't want to think that way. Think that if Frodo were to fail, and the ring were not destroyed, Arwen would fade. Fade away slowly, but steadily.  
There was a slight bump as one of the boats ran on to a small rock. There was much commotion, but Aragorn was brought from his thoughts, and back to matters at hand. A war, a battle, a seemingly sinking ship. He crowded on to the starboard bow beside Legolas and Gimli. He could feel the breath of the warriors of the dead beating upon him and he drew away. The ship would be fine, that was already clear. After a minute or so the crowds dispersed leaving Aragorn to himself again. 

The corsairs of Umbar were fine ships. They moved quickly and silently along the waterways. Their battlements were well intact, they could fight the battle from the waterways if need be. But the dead army should prove of more use than tall towers, arrows, and flints of steel. Aragorn watched as the mountain came into view. It seemed as if a shadow passed over the land. He felt the hilt of his sword as he took in a breath.

For once in the whole entire War of the Ring, Aragorn felt they had a chance…

_To the Edge of Night…_

Frodo lay on the cold floor. The stone took his breath away as his bare back tried to find a more comfortable position. He had no idea how he had got here. All he could remember was Galadriel and- the spider. Gollum… What have I done! Frodo wanted to yell it to the world. To plead for help, to be back in the shire, to have strider by his side. But he kept quiet. He figured it would be best. That was when he noticed it.

His neck was lighter as if some great weight had been removed. He swallowed hard, and brought his bound hands to his neck. Gone- they had taken it. Taken the ring. This whole mission was a failure. What he really needed right now was Sam. Samwise Gamgee, his best friend. And what had he done, he'd sent him away. Tears welled to his eyes, but he choked them back as someone climbed up the ladder. Inside he wished himself away from the situation. He wasn't listening to whatever the orc was saying. There was a sword pointed at his throat, and the quest was lost. Galadriel had been wrong.

"Not if I stick you first!" The voice was familiar and Frodo drew back as a sword stabbed through the orc's stomach. The orc fell forward revealing Frodo's saviour. "Sam!" Frodo was so happy to see his friend. But his mind spun. "Sam! They took it! Took the Ring!" Frodo was alarmed, you could see it in his face, he expected Sam to drop his weapon and stare at his knees, like he did 'oft when they were in the Shire. But he did not. If Sam looked anything it was guilty.

He drew back from Frodo and reached into his coat and pulled out a silver chain- and the ring. Frodo couldn't hear a word Sam was saying. The Ring dangled in front of him. He could hear that weird voice in his head, telling him to do things. "Sam, give it to me…" Frodo said. Sam still held the ring. "Sam…" Sam outstretched his hand. Frodo snatched the ring from Sam and put it around his neck. He was sorry for snatching it, and for being so rude. But it was more than he could bear.

It would appear that the Ring had finally gotten a hold of him, as much as he wanted to deny it. He looked at Sam and then he looked down the long staircase. Well here he was. He had made it. He was inside Mordor…  
_  
__Until the Stars are all alight…_

The Corsairs were pulling to a stop. The docks of Minas Tirith were swarming with orcs. One with a skull stuck on his helmet ran over to where the boat was moored, a scowl upon his face. "Late as usual pirate-scum! There's knife work here that need's doing!" He called. "Come on you sea rats! Get off your ships!" There was a crowd of orcs now, all waiting gingerly for the corsairs to come out. 

Legolas looked to Aragorn a smirk spreading across his face. But this was no regular orc hunt, this was a war. Aragorn silently mouthed 3 and they all jumped out of the ship. They landed on hard rock. Solid but hard. Aragorn wobbled a bit. After being on the sea for so long, it would take a minute to regain his land-legs. Legolas composed himself. He thought of his father, Thranduil. He thought of Mirkwood, and Rivendell. He thought of how he longed for this to end. So he could go home. Aragorn brought his hand up and drew Anduirl, Flame of the West from it's sheath. Legolas reached back and drew an arrow from his quiver. He felt it's slender frame and feathered top. 

Carefully he notched the arrow in his bow. Gimli was standing ready axe in hand. Aragorn started forward, and Legolas followed. "There's plenty for the both of us, may the best dwarf win!" Gimli said to Legolas as they walked forward. Legolas almost smiled at the comment, but Aragorn broke into a run and Legolas thrust himself forward. He could sense a flicker of green as the dead army made themselves visible.

This, he felt, was a good chance that we would win.  
_  
__Mist and Shadow…_

Theoden lay in the wreckage staring at the sky. His body was crushed by the extreme weight of Snowmane, his faithful horse. The sky was cloudy, but strokes of light shone through. Casting a soft glow to the world around him. He knew that he was dieing, There was something inside of him that knew so. He thought of Theodred. Dear Theodred. Of his wife, of his father and mother. He thought of the halls of his fathers. He felt sleep calling.

There was a rustle and then someone pulled him over. Eowyn! But she had stayed behind. No matter, he thought. What matters now is that she's here in the end. Theoden blinked at stared at her. Marking out her face. Her long blond hair fell around her as she held him. He raised his hand to her cheek and stroked it softly. He remembered what he'd said to her after Gandalf released him from Grima's spell.

"I know your face… Eowyn" he whispered. A teary smile spread across her face. Theoden looked to the sky again. "My eyes darken" he told her. "no. no. I'm going to save you…" Theoden could see the tears in her eyes as desperate as she was to hide them. He looked at her, and what she'd done. "You all ready did…" Eowyn smiled and caressed his hair. He could see the tear roll down her cheek, and he wished that he could show her it was better. "Eowyn… My body is broken… You have to let me go…" He said. His voice was dimming, the end was nearer.

Eowyn stared at him. She silently mouthed no. He smiled at her, trying to reassure her that this was for the best. But shadow was starting to cloud his eyes. The end was so near. "I go to my fathers… In whose mighty company… I shall no longer feel ashamed." the dark had almost completely surrounded his eye sight. He wished he could see her smile one last time. He opened his mouth to ask her. "Eowyn…" He trailed off. It went dark. He could no longer talk. He felt her hand still caressing his hair.

Sleep that was all he thought was coming. In the end a wave of relief washed over him, and he was free. But it was short lived, as he pulled away. Fading into the masses of the dead…

_Cloud and Shade… __  
_  
Eomer searched through the seemingly endless piles of bodies. Everywhere he looked he saw fallen companions, orcs, men who looked about his age, and children. Some boys who had fought like men. But the real reason he was here, was that he was searching for his Uncle. When out of the corner of his eye, there it was. A head full of long blond hair. Lying over a white horse. Oh no… please say. But it was.

Eomer ran over to the site and cradled her head in his arms. His sister, his only family left. Dead? His Uncle. Dead? How could this be? Eowyn should not even be here. Eomer sat there. He wept. Wept for everything. For all his friends, their bodies lay strewn and decapitated around them. For his beloved horse, Fire Foot. For his Uncle, his sister. His mother, his father his cousin. All had been taken from him. The losses were to many to count.

And so he sat there and waited. Waited for something, anything to happen…   
_  
__All shall fade…_

Why do they do it? Put their lives on the line like that. It's something that these days we'd have trouble understanding. Our society is run amuck. Courage and Dignity no longer count for anything. What of all the people they did it for. For Theodred, for Theoden. For their mothers and fathers. For Haldir, for Boromir. For Arwen, for Rosie. For Bilbo, for Denethor. For Freedom?

_All shall fade…_


End file.
